


Wanna Be My Lover?

by DRHPaints



Category: Bill Hader - Fandom, IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Comedy, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Food Issues, Friends to Lovers, High School, Humor, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Prom, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, Suicide Attempt, Surgery, Trans Male Character, Transitioning, Transphobia, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DRHPaints/pseuds/DRHPaints
Summary: Comedians Richie and Dorian have been best friends since high school, both nursing unspoken feelings. As they enjoy their regular post-set night of drinking and laughs, the two reflect on their shared history, and the tension between Richie and Dorian reaches the breaking point.
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Original Trans Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [billhaderthegator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billhaderthegator/gifts).



> For those who are curious, the title is from a lyric in the song 'Wannabe' by the Spice Girls
> 
> TW/CW: The original character of Dorian is assigned female at birth. I use words like 'pussy' and 'clit' to describe his genitalia. I apologize if this is too dysphoria-inducing for some. If you would like a fic with different terms, don't hesitate to make a request on tumblr at fandomtransmandom

Raucous cheers welcomed the waitress as she sidled up to the table of intoxicated comedians, tray laden with drinks. Handing one topped with whipped cream to Dorian, he passed the shot over to Richie, whose expressive brows danced suggestively above the thick black rims of his glasses. “You trying to give me a blowjob, Dor?”

With a slow, sexy smirk and the taunt sparkling in his cobalt eyes, Dorian wished Richie wouldn’t say such things and tensed.

But thankfully Dorian’s comedic instinct shifted into gear, despite the alcohol clouding his senses. “I’m not paying for your drinks again just because you bombed, Rich. It takes more than being a shameless slut to make me open my wallet.”

“Oh yeah?” Pink lips a disbelieving pout, Richie opened his wide mouth, encasing the drink hands-free and tossing back the Irish cream and amaretto in one bob of his stubble-bedecked Adam’s apple before the glass clattered to the table with a wink. “Since when, Dor?”

Knuckles whitening around his vodka sour, Dorian cast his eyes away. Forcing his face into a semblance of casual amusement, he ignored the tingle between his thighs. “Since I started booking more headline gigs than you ever will, Trashmouth.”

“Oh fuck youuu.” Richie snagged Dorian by the crown of his sandy hair, rocking his head back and forth, perhaps a bit hard. But regardless of his hazy inebriation Richie knew Dorian didn’t mind. Even in high school, even before Dorian’s transition, they were used to rough housing and roasting. “And I didn’t fucking bomb, dude. People laughed.”

“Person, Richie.” Hiding a wry grin behind his drink, Dorian elbowed Richie’s plush middle. “Singular. That was me. Chuckling out of pity because I don’t want to spend my Saturday night talking some curly haired myopic off the roof. Again.”

Richie narrowed his eyes, albeit unevenly, and pinched Dorian’s waist below the table. Dorian punched his firm arm. A hard flick to the sensitive flesh of Dorian’s neck. Answered by a full on slap across Richie’s rough cheek.

“Jeez, will you two stop it already?” Rolling his eyes with a scoff, during these instances Devon probably regretted volunteering to be the group’s designated driver for the evening. “C’mon, let’s just...hey.” Devon slapped his palms on the table. “You guys wanna play, ‘Chuckle Chicken’?”

A resounding roar of approval and fist pounding greeted this proposal. The object of the game was simple. Two of the comedians would face off; one saying something, the sillier the better, while the other tried to maintain a straight face. Richie and Dorian started the practice years ago, and when they hit the LA scene, introduced it to the others as a free, fun way to pass the time between rounds.

“I wanna go first.” Richie piped up, motioning to Dorian and adjusting his spectacles. “Okay, Dor. Come on.”

Dorian didn’t know why Richie insisted on even trying. The man shattered like fine china in a cement mixer before getting out the first word. And what’s more, Richie, for some unfathomable reason, always believed he could win. Drowning in giggles and tears glittering behind his glasses, Richie would rock, snort, slap his knee. Then sternly tell the table, and Dorian suspected, mostly himself, “Okay, okay. I got this. I got this. Let’s go.” Only to collapse into high pitched mirth, rounded teeth of his overbite jutting and large hand to his chest as he squeaked. When they played teams, Dorian and Richie inevitably partnered, and faced certain defeat. But Dorian never considered a night spent listening to Richie laugh a loss.

Flicking his wrists and puffing out his cheeks, Richie twisted in the booth toward Dorian. “Okay, me first.” 

“Appropriate.” Dorian rested back, arms crossed and lower lip protruding in mock thought. “I bet you’re used to finishing first, Tozier.”

“Pfft. Nope, you’re not gonna throw me off my game this time, Dor.” Hands aloft in preparation, Richie summoned a deep breath into his solid chest, solidifying his sculpted jaw with resolve as he pondered. “Okay…” 

Deep blue eyes flashing open, Richie mimed receiving a telegram from an invisible source to their right, studying the nonexistent document with faux concern while scratching his square chin. Dorian ground his teeth as Richie set the ghost page down on the table, Richie tapping firmly with a finger and giving him a steely gaze. Telling himself to  _ ‘keep it together,’ _ Dorian reluctantly admitted that tonight, Richie came to play.

“You see, Mr. Damel…” Dorian nearly lost his composure at the ridiculous British accent issuing from Richie’s ever-talented voice box, but dug his nails into his thigh and hung on. “I’ve just been informed by the Prime Minister that the  _ Queen… _ ” At this point Richie tipped down and shot Dorian a significant look over the top of his glasses. When he spotted the twitch around Dorian’s emerald eyes, Richie could see victory on the horizon. “Has ordered you to…” Unsure if he could intone the words without tripping himself up, a common occurrence, Richie commanded his mouth to lay flat and formed a fist. “Let me take you to pound town on the fuck truck.”

Not half a second passed before they both exploded, Richie stomping in his giggles, Dorian tossing his head back and cackling. “Big surprise.” Martin sipped his rum and cola and rolled his eyes. “You’re both losers.”

Devon and Tim went next, and as the only one among them without alcohol in his system, Devon won. Waving down the waitress for a refill, Richie leaned into Dorian while the others continued to play, breath warm on his neck, weight of his broad body alluring. “I really thought I had you with the fucking accent.” Richie’s fingers skipped over Dorian’s atop the booth cushion before he licked his supple lips and swayed back. “You’re such a tramp for those Brits, after all.”

“Excuse me?” Jovially smacking Richie’s built chest and rattling out a chuckle, Dorian arched an indignant brow. “How dare you.”

“Oh, so you didn’t go home with that dude from The Largo last week just because he 

called you ‘love’ and promised to make you tea in the morning?” Richie pursed his lips and joked. Poking fun at Dorian was easier than admitting how watching him stroll out of the club beneath the arm of another man hurt, especially when they made plans to hang out. “Don’t lie, Dor.”

Eyes shifting and mouth hanging open, Dorian hesitated and Richie pointed a lengthy finger in his face. “See? Boom. Right there. You wouldn’t have fucked that dude if he wasn’t from  _ across the pond _ …” Richie teetered his head with a cockney accent and rolled his eyes. “He wasn’t even that good looking.”

“Oh, you really wanna go there?” Dorian smiled, wiping over the condensation on his glass. “Should we examine some of the winners you’ve taken home? What about that beauty contestant back in Reno, huh? I swear that dude was a fucking mutant, Rich. Why…”

Shrugging his vast shoulders, Richie thanked the waitress and threw back half his bourbon before responding. “He was a mutant, alright. Huge dick. Must’ve been exposed to plutonium or some shit.”

Heat flooded Dorian’s round face and he gnawed on his tongue. Reminders of that particular reason, though one of many, he never felt confident expressing his feelings to Richie, always stung. “Well, I...at least he had some redeeming characteristics, then…”

“I’ll say.” Dark brows wiggling, the amber liquid seared his throat as Richie polished off his double and considered another, but catching a flicker in Dorian’s viridescent gaze, he decided to abstain.

After high school, Richie ran away from Maine as fast as possible. At the time he figured Dorian, though sporting a different name and a radically different look, would be alright in his absence. Both were passionate about comedy and Richie did well in school, but his grades couldn’t compare to Dorian, a man academically gifted in a way Richie would find intimidating if he didn’t know how Dorian tortured himself for the sake of perfection.

So Dorian went off to college, studying literature and psychology, and Richie flew to sunny California to cut his teeth on the harsh stages, honing his comedy skills and living off ramen in North Hollywood.

Until Richie got a call which made him vomit before cancelling every show on his calendar. Dorian overdosed. And not a cry-for-help-handful-of-aspirin overdose. A seizure and unconscious for days, thankfully by the time Richie’s plane landed, Dorian was awake, but groggy.

Richie supposed he shouldn’t be surprised no one else visited Dorian in the hospital. In school, Richie and Dorian clung to one another desperately, almost developing their own language, to the point they alienated others with constant inside jokes and shenanigans. Any other friends Dorian did possess were away at other colleges, and Richie assumed none even knew of the attempt.

And Dorian’s family was...rough. People in school thought Dorian lucky. Dorian had the party house. Every weekend a constant rotation of kids swinging by to get drunk, get high, have sex. Richie never could fathom how Dorian managed to maintain his grades among the chaos, but somehow, he did.

The others would say things like, “It’s so cool your dad smokes weed!” or “Awesome, can we get high with him, too?” And Richie would see the darkening of Dorian’s countenance. For though their classmates enjoyed the Fridays and Saturdays of carefree fun, Richie stuck around for the week. Of silence. Of dirty dishes clogging the sink until flies gathered. Of no food for days and days, until Dorian shamefully asked Richie if he would take him out to eat, crying in Richie’s car outside of McDonald’s because his father’s choice to buy drugs instead of groceries made Dorian feel pathetic and poor.

So no, Richie didn’t expect to see Dorian’s dad by his bedside when he rushed into the hospital room that day. And though Dorian struggled in the past, wearing long sleeves in hot months, Richie suspecting but never wanting to pry, he never thought Dorian would reach this hopeless place.

When Richie took Dorian’s hand and gently asked if he would be willing to tell him why, if there was anything he could do to help, Dorian froze. Dorian trusted Richie more than anyone in the world. In Richie, Dorian found someone with whom he could share everything, who made him feel less alone. Richie’s existence made Dorian think he mattered. And though Dorian would never tell, it was the thought of how his departure might permanently damage Richie that moved Dorian to call the ambulance that dreadful night.

Steeling himself within the sterile light of the tiny room, Dorian explained through tears the thing inside which at the time did not yet bear the moniker of ‘Dorian.’ A couple of minutes passed before Richie could wrap his mind around what he heard, but once he did, a myriad of gears slid into place and the truth seemed glaringly obvious.

Prom. Prom alone should’ve been a blazing red flag. Both single, Dorian suggested they go together, and asked if Richie would wear the dress and he could wear the suit.

Richie thought it was a funny idea. Assumed that was why Dorian wanted to swap, too. Plus, Dorian complimented his legs, and Richie appreciated the praise more than he would admit. 

Sitting patiently while Dorian styled his curls, applied his makeup, and helped him into the water bra, Richie grinned at himself in the mirror. “I make one ugly ass woman.”

“Hey.” Prodding him carefully to avoid burning Richie’s joined ear with the curling iron, Dorian frowned. “No you don’t. You’re pretty.”

Richie cupped his cheeks, batting his eyelashes coquettishly and Dorian laughed. “Well…” Plucking at the lapel of the black and pink pinstripe jacket of Dorian’s suit, Richie sighed. “At least you make a hot dude. We’ll only be half of a freakshow out there tonight.”

Perhaps preoccupied with their preparation, Richie didn’t notice at the time, but looking back, Dorian became extremely quiet and smoothed his hands over the coat before looking at his reflection. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” Richie replied offhand, squirming uncomfortably as he adjusted the fishnets over his thick thighs. “You look great.”

In their first semester that year a lower classman wore a skirt and received a suspension, and in protest Richie and some of the other guys all went femme to school the following day. But, as a result, Richie and Dorian feared their gender swap might not be taken kindly by school authorities. And so, Richie hid the dress beneath a suit and turned his painted face away, hoping those checking tickets didn’t notice the size 14 heels lurking beneath his slacks as they passed through the doors.

Waiting until they were safely knotted among a pulsing throng of seniors on the dance floor, Dorian looked up at Richie with a mischievous smile. “You ready?”

“Yup.” Smirking, Richie unbuttoned his blazer, casting the fabric into the crowd before dropping his pants and kicking his high heels free. Those around didn’t react all at once, a wave of realization spreading among the students that yes, that was Richie fucking Tozier, in a short, pink, frilly dress. And damn, did he look spectacular.

Richie didn’t enjoy dancing. And the shoes weren’t helping. But he knew Dorian adored the activity, so they spun around the floor on his wobbling ankles. And even the throbbing, cheesy music couldn’t drown out Richie and Dorian’s laughter.

Apparently the school decided any harm done was irreversible at that point, because Richie and Dorian were never hassled. They took a picture like every other couple. Except they selected a pose unique to their personalities. Dorian tipping his top hat and mugging for the camera while Richie full on splayed himself over the floor and up Dorian’s leg, pouting like a pin up girl, both unaware just how high his skirt rode up that night until they received the photos and roared with amusement.

Beneath the harsh hospital fluorescents that chilly Maine afternoon, Richie suggested a pact with Dorian. Richie vowed to stand alongside him through whatever may happen as he became the man he always wanted to be, if Dorian would promise,  _ promise _ , to at least call Richie first before ever hurting himself like this again. 

Richie reluctantly returned to Los Angeles once Dorian transferred from the ICU to the inpatient mental health unit. Because of the long distance, the staff wouldn’t allow Dorian to contact Richie while inside, but Richie could call. And though his phone bill the next month was horrifying, forced to utilize the food shelf while unwilling to look for regular work as the comedy seemed to be coming along better with each performance, Richie knew Dorian was worth the trouble.

When Dorian called him the following May to tell him he failed half of his classes and wouldn’t be going back to college next year, Richie’s flabbergasted “ _ What?!” _ perhaps came off a bit disappointed, because Dorian began to cry. 

But Richie was simply shocked. In the entirety of their academic career, Richie could recall Dorian receiving one A-. Which Richie teased him about, until he saw how deeply troubled Dorian was by the grade, and let it go.

Trapped working in customer service and living with his father, Richie worried about Dorian from afar. When Dorian started to consider hormone treatments, Richie encouraged him heartily. Until Dorian explained that, of course, duh, that would require coming out to everyone he knew. His family included. After all, the changes of testosterone would only go unnoticed for so long.

Richie called his parents. Didn’t tell Dorian he did so, and never would, but they loaned him the money to come home to Maine, Richie agreeing to stay a couple of extra days and visit. Though his true goal was to be beside Dorian for any fallout that might occur when he told his father he now had a son.

Fingers incessantly tapping the steering wheel, Richie’s cobalt eyes darted from the apartment, to the dashboard clock, and back. Richie checked his phone. Checked it again. Only ten minutes passed, but Richie’s nerves were wound wire tight. Dorian insisted in doing this himself, on going in to talk to his dad alone. But Richie wished he would’ve let him come along. Even if only to sit quietly and be there as Dorian spoke.

Richie didn’t imagine Dorian’s father would get violent. He didn’t seem like the type. But you never knew in situations like these, and Richie’s stomach roiled with the possibilities. Richie’s interactions with the man were limited. A constant fixture in one another’s homes all through high school, sometimes Dorian’s dad would approach Richie, inevitably high or drunk. Try to talk about music. Ask Richie if he could hook him up with weed. Richie would lie, say the town was dry and he didn’t know where to find any, even if a fragrant cloud hung around him and Dorian. Dorian’s discomfort in those moments was palpable. He wanted his father to disappear. Wanted himself to disappear. And Richie didn’t think throwing the neglectful man off the scent took much effort on his part.

Dorian didn’t talk about his home life much, even if the specters lurking were blatant and wailing to Richie whenever they hung out in the privacy of his room. But Dorian did mention once his dad asked if he and Richie were dating. Dorian said he told him no. And a sad laugh left him when Dorian explained his dad got the idea because of their junior prom photo.

That previous year, Richie and Dorian attended the dance in traditional garb, though they mocked the proceedings and ditched early to get plastered. But in their picture, Dorian’s dad apparently clocked the slight amount of weight he gained, and commenting on the paunch of his stomach peeking through his red dress, thought Richie got Dorian pregnant.

Richie wanted to hold Dorian after he told that story. Tell him he was beautiful that night. Beautiful every night. Not to listen to those words. Not to worry about the shape of his body. Especially since Richie already grew concerned about Dorian’s relationship with food after years of scarcity.

But Richie simply accepted the pipe when Dorian passed his way, took a hit, and shook his curly head. “I’m sorry. What an asshole.” Dorian nodded. Agreed. They moved on.

At the time, Richie was confused by Dorian’s sexuality. Looking back, he supposed Dorian was as well. He claimed to be a lesbian. Dorian chose that path because, in those days, variance wasn’t acceptable. Gay or straight. Choose. And Dorian felt so masculine, so bad at being a woman, he assumed he must just be a really butch, hardcore lesbian. 

But Dorian continued to sleep with men. He didn’t talk about it, but Richie knew. Saw him disappearing into bedrooms at parties. Heard stories from others around school of Dorian getting into situations with older guys that frankly, sounded a little dangerous.

But they didn’t really discuss sex. Not in real terms, at least. They would talk about women they found attractive, and the occasional man when a stroke of bravery hit Richie, but nothing more.

Until Dorian noticed an attraction between Richie and his friend Holly. Richie telling one too many jokes. Holly laughing a bit too hard. Working as a conduit, Dorian set them up, knowing both to be virgins and, seeing Holly with her elegant, effortless femininity he could never hope to possess, wanting Richie to be happy more than anything.

Richie and Holly dated for a couple of months, slept together. They weren’t compatible beyond that, really, but she was nice. An odd comment Dorian made when he first hooked them up always stuck with Richie, though. Laughing as he tapped the ash from his cigarette, Dorian shrugged and said, “Well, I can’t have sex with either one of you, so, there you go.”

Richie thought of asking Dorian to clarify. But, enamored with Holly, the issue didn’t seem pressing, and by the time things were over with her, Richie didn’t know how to bring the subject up again naturally. Dorian expressed attraction to Holly before. Did that mean he wanted Richie, too? Or was he merely being flippant, funny, as they were wont to do? Richie didn’t know. He wondered...

Finally Dorian emerged from the apartment, head down and hands fisted at his sides before he climbed into the passenger side. “How did it go?” Richie asked gently, studying his friend's indiscernible expression.

“Um, well…” Voice flat and faraway, Dorian swallowed. “I suppose... a lot better than most people have to deal with.” Dorian nodded, fingers twisting in his lap. “I explained. And he...well, we were sitting outside. And he made us go inside so the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but, um…He just...all he said was, ‘I guess I shouldn’t get angry about something I can’t change’.”

Richie blinked in confusion. “Okay...how are you doing? How...what can I do to help you right now?” 

Bobbing his head a little too quickly, Dorian forced a smile. “I’m okay. It’s fine. Thanks. Um…” Dorian looked out the windshield as if he only just remembered the road existed in front of the car. “Do...should we just get something to eat? Or...whatever you wanna do. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Starting the engine, Richie pulled away. Muscle in his sharp jaw flickering as they drove, Richie cleared his throat and stared straight ahead. “I’m really proud of you, Dor.”

Silence radiated from the other side of the car and Richie slowly snuck a large hand across the center console to squeeze Dorian’s fingers. “Thanks, Rich.”

***

Despite his earlier objections, Dorian paid Richie’s tab before the five of them stumbled out of the bar and into the balmy night. Though worried by Richie’s drinking from time to time, Dorian felt indebted to him for the endless kindnesses shown over the years. So when Richie was too blasted to turn him away, Dorian took the small opportunities to pay him back.

Initially when Richie promised to support him through his transition, Dorian thought the offer sweet, but was skeptical as to how he could accomplish such a task with a country separating their friendship. But Richie did.

When he started testosterone, Richie congratulated him boisterously. And a few days later Dorian received a care package which made him burst out laughing as soon as he revealed the contents. Axe body spray. Clinical strength deodorant. An electric razor. And a Playboy. All complete with the gayest damn card Dorian ever witnessed that played ‘Macho Man’ when opened. 

Mostly keeping in touch via text, Richie and Dorian would plan a phone call when one or the other needed to discuss something too extensive to put into words. After his first show at The Largo, manic with glee, Richie impulsively dialed Dorian. And when a deep, unfamiliar voice answered, Richie’s prominent brows knit at his screen, concerned he got the number wrong. “Dorian?”

“Hey Rich, what’s up?” 

An octave lower than he last heard him, Richie marveled. “Holy shit! Is that really you?”

“Yeah…” Dorian paused, confused. “Who else would it be, Richie? You called me…”

“Yeah, but man...you sound so different.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, you sound…” The first word which floated to Richie’s mind, ‘sexy,’ he swatted away. “...your voice is so deep. It’s cool.”

A rumbling chuckle echoed over the line and Richie’s skin erupted in goosebumps. “Oh...I knew it changed a little. But I didn’t think I sounded very different.”

“No, dude. It’s crazy.” Richie reassured him, forgetting about why he called in the first place. “I wouldn’t have known it was you! Fuck, I’m so jealous. You’re over there getting all Barry White and I still sound like I’m stuck in puberty.” Making his voice crackle and waver, Richie grinned broadly when Dorian’s earth shaking chuckle responded. “Uh...hello, sir. Can you tell me where to find moisture wicking knee socks, please?”

“Yeah, well, testosterone is an amazing thing, dude. Finally understand how you got such killer arms doing like, a quarter of the work I was doing for years. What the fuck. No fair.”

Richie giggled and shook his head. “So...can I have some? Seriously, I want that voice. How much for a vial, man?”

A heavy sigh greeted him and Richie laughed. “If I had a dollar for every cis dude who asked me for a hit of T, lemme tell you man, I would be drowning in strippers right now.” They both chuckled before Dorian proceeded. “But Rich, you don’t need to get any furrier. Or hornier. And all testosterone would do is speed up your hair loss, so…”

“Excuse me?” Sharp jaw dropping in mock fury, Richie clutched invisible pearls, even though he knew Dorian couldn’t see. “Are you implying that I’m balding?”

“No implications about it, Rich.” In that moment Richie could picture the malevolent smirk blossoming on Dorian’s face. “You are. Gotta hand it to you, though, Keeping the curls long helps hide it. Some.”

“You are such an asshole.” Richie beamed, tucking the phone closer to his joined ear.

“I learned from the best.”

Eventually Richie remembered to tell Dorian about his set, and Dorian flooded him with questions and praise, overjoyed for his friend’s success. 

The following winter, career on an uptick and a little extra money to his name, Richie cleared his schedule for two weeks in preparation to fly to Maine and take care of Dorian post-top surgery. 

Though Dorian finally escaped his father and got his own apartment, when he casually told Richie of the upcoming procedure and Richie inquired, only to discover that, no, they wouldn’t even allow Dorian to stay the night in the hospital and, no, Dorian didn’t have someone to watch him after, his anxiety veered into full throttle.

“Dor, what the fuck? You can’t take care of yourself after something like that.” Richie pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “That’s major surgery. You...you can’t be alone. Someone has to watch you. Make sure you’re okay. You’re getting anaesthesia, and--”

“Richie, I’ll be fine.” Cutting him off, Dorian didn’t want to admit he had the same concerns. But no one to ask for help. He planned on lying to the doctors, telling them a friend would be with him for the first 24 hours as required, and taking a cab home. “I got this. Don’t worry. I’ll set everything up in advance. And be really careful. And--”

“No!” Richie didn’t mean to shout, but Dorian was being unreasonable, and his nerves were overwhelming. “I’m sorry, just…” Sighing, Richie scrubbed a hand through his dark tendrils. “Just...I’m coming out there, okay? When’s the surgery scheduled?”

Quiet for a long time, Dorian eventually cleared his throat. “Don’t do that, Richie. You have so much going on…”

“Fuck it.” Throat tight, Richie urged a chuckle forth and blinked. “I’m coming whether you want me to or not. Gonna watch them saw off those chesticles. It’ll be badass.”

But, bag packed and ticket in hand, Richie looked on in horror as the flight to Maine was delayed two hours, then indeterminately, then cancelled, a snow storm preventing any planes from landing at their home airport.

Richie kept in contact with Dorian over the phone, both before he went under and after he came out, but the guilt ate at his gut when Dorian answered, groggy, disoriented. “Hey...Richie…”

“Hey Dor…” Curled up on his couch and resentful of the sunshine through his window, Richie swallowed hard. “How are you? How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m good. Thanksss.” Slurring a little, Dorian did sound happy, at least. “They said everything went really well. And they’re...they’re gone, Rich. It’s done.”

Sapphire eyes moist, Richie hugged himself and sniffed. “That’s great, Dor. I'm so proud of you. That’s so great. Um…” Glancing to the ceiling and blinking rapidly, Richie’s mouth hung open in shame. “I...I was thinking. I’ll...I’ll get a flight out. Somewhere. I don’t know. Boston. New York. Wherever the weather is good. And, um...I’ll just...I’ll just rent a car. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay? Just…” Richie threw his glasses away and covered his face, inhaling sharply. “I know it’s gonna be the hardest the first couple of days, but...I’ll...yeah. Dor, I’ll get there. Okay?”

“Oh, Richie, don’t do that…” Dorian replied dreamily. “They’re going to let me stay tonight because of the weather. And I’ll be okay. Plus, if you try to drive here, we’ll just both end up in the hospital. From what the nurses said it’s, like, Hoth-level tundra out there.”

Richie half smiled in spite of his distress. “Yeah...I guess I don’t have a Tauntaun to crawl into…”

“Make the noise, Richie…” An exhausted, contented hum issued from Dorian. “Please. I like that noise so much.”

“Okay, Dor, but…” Swallowing back his tears, Richie clutched the phone. “I...what if you laugh? Won’t that hurt right now?”

“Dude, I don’t know what I’m on, but trust me. Nothing is gonna hurt right now.”

With a weak chuckle, Richie bobbed his head. “Okay, Dor…” Launching into his crazy Tauntaun impression, Dorian’s cackle answered, albeit stilted, and Richie stopped, twinging at the thought that perhaps Dorian might be in more pain than he realized.

“There’s…” Richie bit a pink lip, nostrils flared. “There’s really no one around who can come check on you, at least? Dor, I...I’d really feel better knowing someone’s gonna see you’re okay…”

“I’ll be fine, Richie.” Dorian’s tone faded. “I laid out everything I need at home. Don’t worry...I’ll...I’m so sleepy. Can I call you tomorrow? When I get back?”

“Yeah, okay, Dor.” Blind and nodding, Richie took a risk, figuring Dorian wouldn’t remember. “Be careful. And get better soon. I...I love you.”

“I love you, too, Richie. Bye…” Whisper lingering in Richie’s mind after they hung up, he checked the weather and, unfortunately the snow showed no sign of letting up, Maine and the surrounding states getting pummeled for the next three days. And though Dorian claimed he got along well, requiring no extra medical attention, Richie never could forgive himself for not being there when Dorian needed someone.


	2. 2

Piling into Devon’s SUV, Richie squeezed in the backseat between Dorian and Martin, tossing a firm arm around Dorian and scooting near to make room. Dorian’s head lolled back over the shelf of Richie’s shoulder for a moment, consciousness swimming before he blinked off some of the drunkenness and Devon peeled away from the curb.

Indulging himself, Dorian nestled against Richie’s soft, strong body as Devon’s playlist permeated the car. Nose to Richie’s stubbled neck, Dorian inhaled his bewitching scent. Bourbon. Bergamot. Cedar.  _ Richie. _

Being in the backseat of a car with Richie reminded Dorian of the time they went ‘mail boxing’ with Brendan senior year. In retrospect, Dorian wondered if perhaps Richie had a crush on Brendan and couldn’t admit it, either to himself or anyone else. It seemed the only reasonable explanation for why Richie wanted them to hang out with someone so vulgar and reckless. 

But, perched in the back of Brendan’s truck, Dorian said nothing when he suggested they tool around the neighborhood. With a bat. To destroy mailboxes.

Beyond underage drinking and getting high, Dorian and Richie never crossed the line of the law, really, so seeing Richie pumped and ready to demolish private property, alarmed Dorian. 

Music blasting, Richie hung his tall frame out of the passenger side window as Brendan swerved toward the first mailbox. Powerful arms swinging, Richie effortlessly crushed the wooden post and they laughed. Dorian didn’t. He looked over his shoulder, lip bitten and worried about the possibility of police, of trouble.

Nearing the fourth house, Richie angled up, laughing and bat at the ready.

But the mailbox hit back, the wide mirror of Brendan’s hick vehicle plowing into the edge as he veered too far to the right, twisted metal shooting through the open window with frightening velocity. “Fuck!”

“Richie!” Large hand covering his right eye and glasses crushed on the seat beneath, Dorian panicked and groped at the ceiling for the light as Richie curled over the center console and whimpered. “Richie! Richie, are you alright?” 

Dorian peeled Richie’s wrist away and exhaled in relief when both of his sapphire eyes winced back. But the cut above his brow bled. Profusely. “Fuck, Rich…” Clearing away his curls, Dorian looked from his pained face to Brendan. “Fuck. We...we need to take him to a hospital. Come on…”

“No.” Brendan replied firmly. “No, we’ll get in trouble. You’ll be okay, right, man?” Clapping Richie on the back, Brendan hung a u-turn.

Richie swallowed, ignoring the sting behind his eyes and grateful when Dorian interlaced their fingers. “Yeah...yeah, I’m alright…”

“Richie…” Dorian lowered his voice and leaned in. “It looks bad. You might need stitches. I really think--”

“Just…” Gaze sliding significantly to Brendan, Richie ticked his head from side to side. “Just...can we go back to your place? We’ll take a closer look. If it’s bad, I...I think I can drive myself.”

Dorian still didn’t have his license then, and he frowned. “But Richie--”

“Dor…” Richie squeezed Dorian’s hand. “Please.”

Assenting, when they arrived at Dorian’s apartment, for once Richie found himself grateful for Dorian’s father and his absenteeism, as stumbling inside bleeding would be instantly noticed by his own parents.

Dorian hauled Richie’s tall form to the bathroom, plopping him down before snatching up a clean washcloth, hydrogen peroxide, and cotton balls. “Fuck…” Trying to keep a lid on his anxiety, Dorian tore through his drawers, aggravated by his household’s constant lack. “I don’t have any band-aids. I, um...hang-hang on.”

Dorian disappeared, Richie whoozy, swaying, and returned to his side with a roll of duct tape and a glass of water. “This...this is all we got.”

“Okay, Dor.” Richie took hold of the drink and dribbled down the front of his shirt while Dorian scrubbed his hands and soaked the washcloth in warm water.

“Okay, Richie? I’m going to go slow, alright?” Dabbing at his high forehead, Dorian and Richie both flinched as he wiped off the caked blood, provoking a fresh stream. “Fuck...Richie, this is still bleeding. I really think you need stitches.”

“Lemme see.” Richie rocked forward, overbalanced, and Dorian braced himself to keep Richie from falling. “Okay, okay…” Blinking, Richie allowed Dorian to turn him to the mirror. “Fuck…” Richie squinted and leaned in until he practically kissed his own reflection. “I can’t see shit. Do you have my glasses?”

Rubbing Richie’s wide back, Dorian retrieved the shattered spectacles from his collar. “Richie, they...they broke. Remember?”

“Oh...right.” Richie lifted the webbed frames, attempting to peer through the largest solid piece. “I...I really think it’ll be okay, Dor.” Frowning in appraisal, Richie teetered his head and immediately regretted the action. “I think if we patch it up it’ll be fine.”

Shuffling back and sitting atop the closed toilet with a nod, Richie fought off the lethargy weighing down his limbs as Dorian rang out the washcloth. “But Richie...your face…” 

Dorian wanted to tell Richie he was gorgeous, that he shouldn’t risk scarring himself, that they should go to the hospital right now, even if it meant him driving illegally. But Richie’s goofy grin peered up, grasping Dorian’s forearm as he swabbed. “Hey, maybe now my eyes will match.”

Laughing through his worry, Dorian shook his head. “You’re supposed to fix the wonky one. Not damage the good one, dumbass.”

“Yeah, well…” Waves of his oceanic eyes tumultuous in his probable concussion, Richie covered Dorian’s hand with his own and smiled. “I work with what I got.”

Clearing the droplets of crimson from Richie’s brow, Dorian cupped his other rough cheek, dipping down, face close. 

“What’re you doing?” Richie murmured when Dorian hesitated with their lips an inch apart.

Straightening up, Dorian blinked, retreating and busying himself with the cotton balls at the counter. “Nothing.”

“Were you gonna--”

“Nope.” Dorian shook his head insistently, wet cotton ball in hand as he returned, face pink and eyes averted.

Expressive brows furrowed, then unraveling at the pain, Richie scanned Dorian curiously. “You were gonna--”

“Nope.” Teeth gritted, Dorian roughly grabbed Richie’s square chin. “This is gonna sting.”

“Ah fuck!” Richie yanked away from Dorian as the peroxide lit a fire above his eye. “What the hell, Dor? If...we should talk about this…”

Hands fisting at his sides, Dorian inadvertently squeezed out a trickle of liquid onto the floor. “Just shut up, Richie.”

“But Dor…”

“Richie, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’m calling your mom and telling her what you did tonight.” 

A resolved rage stared back at Richie, and in his current position, he couldn’t argue. Nodding silently, Dorian finished tending to his wound. By the end, Richie looked rather ridiculous, blob of cotton duct taped to his high forehead, but there was nothing else to be done.

Though Richie slept over at Dorian’s countless times before, his long body sprawled over the couch cushions on the floor while Dorian rested in the bed above, for the first time they went to sleep without speaking, without saying good night. 

The next morning when Richie rose, he suspected Dorian was awake, back to him and breath shallow. But Richie let him be, sneaking out to his car and driving home with narrowed eyes, praying he didn’t hit anything along the way.

All their trouble turned out to be for nothing, as Richie’s mother took one look at his makeshift bandage and immediately brought him to the hospital for stitches anyway. Three days passed. Three days Richie waited for Dorian to call, and he never did.

Richie left a message. No response. Finally Richie went to Dorian’s apartment and buzzed. No one answered. Unsurprised, Richie was grateful, not for the first time, Dorian lived on the ground floor, and knocked on his window.

Peeling back the sheet which served as a curtain, Dorian’s expression turned fearful when he recognized the familiar mop of curls bending near. But Dorian supposed he couldn’t avoid him forever. Sliding up the glass, Dorian hid his green eyes on the sill. “Hey Richie…”

“Hey.” Richie crouched down, firm arms folded and resting his chin on his wrists. “So what...you’re just not gonna talk to me anymore?”

Shaking his head slowly, Dorian hardly dared to speak. “I just...don’t want to talk about...that…”

“But Dor…” Though at the time Richie fooled around with Brendan behind closed doors, deeply infatuated and not telling anyone, even Dorian, he didn’t want to lose his best friend. “I really think we should--”

“Richie…” Nails carving crescent moons into his arms, Dorian’s breath caught. “Please. I...can’t we just...pretend that didn’t happen? Go...go back?”

Looking at him through the screen, Richie tilted his head. “But Dor...if you…”

“Richie, I can’t!” Fingers splaying, Dorian sat up in his bed and for a moment Richie couldn’t see his face before he took a breath and lowered himself again. “I...I can’t talk about this.” When he reappeared, Dorian sniffled behind his hands. “Please, Richie. Just...let it go, okay? Let’s...last night was so fucked up. Let’s just pretend all of it never happened and never talk about it, okay?”

Richie touched the screen, warped from all the times they popped it in and out of the frame to avoid waking Dorian’s dad when Richie came by in the middle of the night. “Okay, Dor. If...if that’s what you want. I just...I don’t like when we don’t talk.” Dorian nodded silently and the breeze carried in Richie’s flinty whisper. “Can I come in? Do you wanna hang out?”

“Yeah…” Dorian swiped the moisture from his face. “Yeah, okay.” Removing the frame, Richie folded his tall body and crawled inside. He wanted to hug Dorian. Tell him everything was okay. But considering the circumstances, changing the subject with a joke about how he would look like Frankenstein now with the stitches seemed easier, better.

Dorian considered Richie avoiding the topic of his near kiss that day, and ever since, one of the many generosities afforded him in their years together. A part of Dorian even accepted the fact that Richie probably knew how he felt, simply too kind to call him out, enduring a friendship with someone obviously in hopeless love with him.

When Dorian called Richie a few years ago and told him he wanted to try his hand at comedy in Los Angeles, too, Richie was thrilled, but curious as to why he wouldn’t move to the closer, hotter New York scene. Dorian stammered, claimed his reasoning to be ‘California is gay as hell, so why not?’ and Richie laughed and accepted this explanation. But in reality, if Dorian was going to risk everything on his creative pursuits, he wanted to be near Richie. 

Touring nationally at that point, Richie offered to give Dorian a hand up. Introduce him around, find him an agent, an apartment. Dorian resolutely declined, saying he wanted to try on his own.

The idea made Richie nervous. He remembered what it was like getting by in the clubs originally. And more than anything, he never wanted Dorian to go hungry again.

But Richie forgot that, unlike himself, Dorian was no stranger to a 9-5 and didn’t take issue with waiting tables while he worked the stages. And though his own ascent in the LA comedy world followed a different path than Richie’s due to the drastically different nature of their material, Dorian soon found himself able to quit his day job and rely on bookings full time.

Richie would never forget that first day Dorian landed at LAX. Rocking back and forth on his heels, Richie held a sloppily scrawled sign before his firm chest which read: DORIAN DAMEL-LEAST FUNNY GUY ON THE PLANET.

Flubbing his lips and ignoring the odd looks from strangers, Richie did a double take when a taut-bodied, tattooed man with sandy hair strolled up to him, smirking with a suitcase under one arm. “You fucking asshole.”

Richie hadn’t seen Dorian in person for almost five years. And though they spoke often, and Dorian posted the occasional picture of himself on social media, Richie wasn’t prepared. Paper fluttering out of his large hands, Richie’s crisp jaw dropped. “Holy shit, dude!” Lassoing Dorian into his powerful arms, Richie chuckled and squeezed a contented hum from Dorian, noticing how good he smelled. “Damn, you…” Richie lingered on Dorian’s hips before stepping back, two spots of pink donning his high cheekbones. “You look great, man.”

“Thanks, Rich.” Patting Richie’s sandpaper cheek, Dorian grinned. “So do you. Now, take me to In-N-Out burger.”

At first Richie worried about Dorian and the other comedians. As with most avenues in this world, straight white guys dominated stand up, and even Richie tempered his act to shirk his sexuality. But Dorian often performed his material for Richie over the phone to get his opinions. And though undeniably hilarious, many of the jokes involved his status as a queer, trans man.

Thankfully almost everyone was cool about Dorian, though audiences weren’t always receptive depending on the area where he performed. One guy, a small timer who worked the clubs for years, did lean into Richie one night, voice low. “That Damel dude is funny, but…” Wobbling a hand in the air, he screwed up his face. “Does he have to talk about being trans all the time? Like, we fuckin’ get it, man. That’s your hook. Whatever.”

Teeth clenched and sharp jawline waving in warning, Richie’s voice transformed into a well of vicious defense as he stared the other man down. “It’s not a fucking ‘hook.’ It’s who he is. All your jokes are about being a stupid asshole, so I don’t see why you’re fucking surprised.”

Storming away, Richie figured many probably said the same, and worse, about Dorian, but not to his face once they knew him and Dorian to be friends. But still, if Richie could check one jerk, he would.

When Dorian arrived in California, the first few weeks were a flurry of setting up his place, learning the ropes at a new job, and testing the waters of live performance. So a month passed before he noticed something concerning about Richie.

The drinking. To Dorian’s knowledge, aside from when Richie picked him up at the airport and perhaps one other instance, Richie was never completely sober when they were together. And though he seemed to maintain the identity of the ‘fun drunk,’ Dorian worried. Worried when Richie tripped on the way to the microphone one night. Worried when each time he swung by Richie’s place, the mess expanded like an untended mold. And most of all, Dorian worried when Richie called at three in the morning, words barely discernible. “Hey Dor...jussst...I just love you so fuckin’ much, man…”

Dorian hung up and sped over to Richie’s, discovering him hunched over the toilet, puking up bile. Brushing back his brunette ringlets, Dorian caressed his wide back until Richie finished. Helping him to bed, Dorian removed his glasses and encouraged Richie to drink a full glass of water before passing out.

The next morning, eyes gummy and stomach roiling, Richie almost sat atop a sleeping Dorian on the couch, oblivious to the previous night's events. When Dorian calmly and carefully expressed his concern about Richie’s alcohol use, his first instinct was to deny, deflect with humor.

But Dorian held firm, and Richie admitted lately, with the unpredictability of life on the road (and being devastatingly lonely, but he didn’t disclose that to Dorian) he relied more and more on drinking to cope. Dorian offered to go with him to meetings, but Richie chose instead to cut back on his own. And, so far, Richie’s method of allowing himself excessive indulgence once a week and staying dry the rest of the time seemed to work well. Though he promised Dorian if things were to get out of hand again, he would seek further treatment.

And so Dorian’s feelings were mixed about joining the guys for their regular night out following the Saturday set. He didn’t want to encourage Richie to drink, but at the same time knew he would regardless, and figured coming along may encourage Richie to imbibe perhaps a bit less.

Plus, as they dropped off Martin and Richie and Dorian spread out in the backseat, he couldn’t deny they enjoyed their escapades. Thankful Richie kept his arm around him despite the increase in space, when Devon heard the first few notes of the Spice Girls’ ‘Wannabe’ issuing over the speakers, he cranked the volume. “Okay, fuck all of you if you judge me. This is still a bop over twenty years later, so...”

Richie began to dance. Badly. And sing. Worse. Swaying himself and Dorian from side to side, Richie’s voice scratched as he shouted along with the lyrics and shimmied to the beat.

Laughing, Dorian sang along softly, and Richie leaned in, lips accidentally smearing over Dorian’s ear. “C’mon. Louder. You have such a sexy voice.”

Dorian fisted his hand in Richie’s gray shirt, raising his tone slightly. Without fail, Richie made a series of wacky faces as he overacted the lyrics.  _ ‘Make it last forever, friendship never ends. If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give…’ _

Locked into Richie’s twinkling blue eyes, Dorian couldn’t help but flashback to when they danced to this at prom, though by then the shine wore off the overplayed tune and they both groaned. Now, Dorian belted out the lyrics with renewed gusto.  _ ‘Now you know how I feel. Say you can handle my love. Are you for real?’ _

_ ‘Slam your body down and wind it all around _ .’ Richie’s voice faltered as he cupped Dorian’s cheek and the song faded.  _ ‘If you wanna be my lover…’ _

Supple lips latched onto Dorian with a tumbling sigh, Richie folding him into the car door as his huge hands groped over Dorian’s face, his waist, his ass.

Dorian tugged at the mop of Richie’s curls, pulling his broad body over him like a warm blanket and licking into his wide mouth with abandon. Unable to process the turn of events, all Dorian knew was Richie kissed him, kept kissing, nodding feverishly the whole time as if Richie, too, needed to reassure himself of the situation’s reality.

“Whoa! What the fuck?” Devon looked in the rearview mirror and Tim twisted around. Richie and Dorian sprang apart, breathing hard and eyes darting. “Were you guys just making out?”

“Nope.” Richie and Dorian answered in unison.

Tim pointed knowingly, arching a brow. “Yeah you fucking were.”

Richie shook his head. “Nuh-uh.” 

“No we weren’t.” Looking like two teenagers caught at inspiration point by the cops, Richie and Dorian fidgeted guiltily until Tim faced forward again.

“Sure…” 

Casting a net to Dorian and luring him to the seductive sea of his eyes, Richie slithered across the seat to cover Dorian’s hand with his own. Richie swept in, face averted from the others, whisper barely audible as his breath tickled Dorian’s ear. “Do you wanna stay at my place tonight?”

“Yeah.” Dorian squeezed Richie’s fingers, lips scraping over his stubble.

“Okay...just say you have to go to the bathroom when we get there, and we’ll both get out. Cool?”

“Sounds good.” As Devon rolled to a stop outside of Richie’s building, Dorian took a deep breath, well aware of how this could go. “Alright, I gotta use the bathroom. So...Rich, you mind if I come in?”

“No problem, man.” With all of his voices, all of his years before a microphone, Richie didn’t sound natural at all and Dorian suppressed a roll of his eyes. “You can just crash at my place…”

Tim and Devon burst out laughing as Richie slid out of the backseat and held the door open for Dorian. “You guys are so full of shit. If you’re gonna go bone, just--”

“Shut the fuck up, Devon.” Richie bit back, cutting his eyes toward the driver's seat with his sharp jaw clenched. “Thanks for the ride.” 

Lollying toward the entrance as he tracked Devon’s SUV driving away, once Richie saw him round the corner, he swarmed over Dorian. “Come on.”

Big hands hooking beneath his thighs as their mouths collided, Dorian hopped up, legs wrapping around Richie’s waist and draping his arms over his vast shoulders. Richie slammed Dorian back into the call panel with a mutual grunt, skipping his ass up and down over the buttons for a dozen or more apartments. 

As a result, by the time Dorian sensed the column of Richie’s erection prodding his thigh as Richie kissed a hungry path to nip his earlobe, a barrage of voices rang out behind, some pleasantly inquisitive, some sleepy and confused, and some downright pissed. 

_ ‘Yes, who is it?’ _

_ ‘Uhh...is someone there?’ _

_ ‘What in the actual fuck? It’s two in the damn morning. Who is this?’ _

But Richie’s inquiring neighbors merely received panting, moaning, and a flinty muffled voice in response. “Dor, please, tell me you want me to fuck you…”

“Yes, Richie! Fuck…” Lips skidding over the line of his sculpted jaw, Dorian pulled at Richie’s curly mane before looking to the door. “But let’s...let’s just...get inside, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Okay…” Richie set Dorian down, and as he fumbled in his pockets and attempted once, twice, thrice to line the key up to the lock, Dorian’s petite hands roamed over his tall frame. Sneaking under his shirt, Richie hissed when Dorian tweaked a nipple, tickling through his fluffy dark chest hair before biting his joined ear.

“You know…” Dorian watched Richie’s large hand struggling to open the door and reached down to palm his burgeoning erection over his gray pants. “This doesn’t exactly instill me with confidence, Rich. If you can’t get a key in a lock…”

Forcing his fingers to calm, Richie snarled as Dorian molded around the wide head of his cock through the fabric and squeezed. “You’re fucking distracting me, Dor. It’s not my fault I can’t--” Tumblers sliding home, Richie whipped the door open and hauled Dorian inside. “There we go.” 

Ascending three stairs, they encased one another squidlike and Richie shoved Dorian to the wall, bannister in his back and not giving a damn about the discomfort as Richie’s pink lips sucked over his collarbone. “Dor, tell me…” Richie murmured against his electrified skin, driving his clothed cock into the heat between Dorian’s legs. “Tell me how to touch you. I wanna make you cum so fucking bad, but…” Hands stopping and lips slowing, Richie broke away, eyes deep blue pools of thoughtfulness as he studied Dorian’s face. “I don’t wanna...hurt you. Or do anything wrong, so…”

“Oh...thanks, um…” Though a bit awkward perched there with a leg around Richie and his heart drumming a beat of impatience, Dorian appreciated Richie taking the time to ask. Many people didn’t. “I...I’m okay with you touching me anywhere you want, Richie. I’m down for whatever.”

Richie’s gaze drifted downward and he lifted a dark brow. “Anywhere?”

“Yeah.” With a nodding smile, Dorian polished Richie’s prominent cheekbone. “I like that.”

“Okay, cool.” Claiming Dorian’s mouth with ferocity, Richie spun him around and, back to his built chest, nudged him up the stairs. Neck craned and glued to Richie’s supple lips, Dorian nearly tumbled them backward when a big hand popped the button on his jeans and crammed into his boxer briefs, Richie groaning into his mouth. “Fuck...Dor, you’re so fucking wet…”

Richie froze, fingers stilling between Dorian’s moist lips as they reached the landing of his floor. “Oh, um...sorry. Is...is it okay to say that?”

“Yeah…” Dorian brought Richie’s face back to his own with a nod. “My pussy is so fucking wet for you, Rich. You make me so hot.”

Blinking in surprise, Richie etched the tip of his nose over Dorian’s soft cheek as he began dexterously circling his clit. “You use that word?”

“Yeah.” Dorian shrugged, planting a kiss to the gravel of Richie’s chin, the touch of gray only adding to the slickness between his thighs. “Pussy, clit. Some guys use, like, ‘natal dick’ and ‘mangina’ or whatever. But that’s just what I prefer.”

“Can I…” Hesitating, Richie combed through Dorian’s flaxen locks with a half smirk. “Can I use those words then, too? Is that alright?”

“Sure.” Dorian grinned, tone wavering as Richie’s ministrations hastened between his legs. “I mean, don’t go calling me a ‘pussy’ over lunch if you don’t wanna get clocked. But if we’re fooling around, yeah. I think it’s hot.”

Sighing in relief, Richie corralled Dorian near as he walked them down the hall. “Good because…” Richie experly fiddled Dorian’s clit, twitching as Richie’s rounded teeth dragged over the sensitive skin of his neck, breath urgent and words moreso. “I’m gonna pound this pussy so fucking hard you forget the punchline to every joke you’ve ever written.”

With an internal throb of yearning, Dorian rounded on him, rubbing over Richie’s little belly as they stumbled in front of his doorway. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tozier.”

“What makes you think I can’t?” Richie told his brain to tell his hand to put the key in the damn lock correctly this time, despite Dorian unbuckling his belt with tantalizing purpose.

“Remember when you called the eight ball last week?” Dorian raised an inquisitive brow as Richie opened the door. Richie did, though Dorian’s hand plunging into his boxers in search of his own billiards affected his recollection somewhat.

“Hey...the...the...light, it, um…” Gasping as Doring glided the paper thin skin of his cock up and smeared his frenulum with a dainty thumb, Richie licked his lips and blinked, grip tightening over Dorian’s ink splashed arm. “I told you. I couldn’t see. My glasses…”

“Rich...you scratched so hard you sent the cue ball into the back of that lady’s head…”

“Shut the fuck up.” Silencing Dorian’s mouth with his own, Richie tried to get back into his jeans, at the same time Dorian attempted to jump on top of Richie.

As a result, they plummeted, Richie’s python arms snaking around Dorian just in time to cushion their fall and prevent his head from cracking to the floor. “Whoa! Fuck!”

With a grunting thud, Richie investigated Dorian’s face below. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” Dorian spread his legs, hips bearing upward as he gave Richie’s thick cock a generous yank. “I’m good.”

“Oh fuck…” Toes of his shoes squeaking as he sought leverage, Richie snatched Dorian by the wrists, pinning him securely and hump, hump, humping him into the floorboards with his tall, curving body.

“Holy shit, Dor. I can’t wait to fuck you…” Smacking Dorian’s tailbone violently into the ground with every stroke, Dorian didn’t care if he came away bruised and limping as long as Richie didn’t stop, never stopped. “I’m gonna make you cum so damn hard. Eat your pussy. Fuck you so-- _ BAH! _ ”

Four tiny legs scuttled up Richie and, were his powerful arms not occupied with holding Dorian down, the diminutive, excitable face of a pomeranian which appeared over his left shoulder and started licking Dorian’s nose would surely have been swatted without thinking.

Luckily for the fluffy creature, no such incident occurred, and Richie merely tried to shake the little dog off. “What the fuck? What--?!”

“Frisky, no! No, come! Come!” 

An elderly woman appeared in a ratty robe and curlers, and Dorian muttered under his breath. “I was trying to, lady…”

Mrs. Rutherford stared down at them agog as Frisky scampered over Richie’s wide back to hop at her heel. Richie arched around, ticking up his glasses when she settled into an expression of disapproval. “Yeah, I’m gonna fuck him right here in the hallway, you got a problem with that?” Flint of his voice sparking, Richie came up on a knee to shout as she scooped the wriggling canine into her arms and retreated in her slippers. “Put your damn dog on a leash and you won’t have to see people banging next time! You did this to yourself! Fuck!”

Laughing with a hand over his brow, Dorian shook his head. “Rich...you’re incorrigible.”

“Sure am.” Getting to his feet, Richie’s big hands hoisted Dorian up by the waistband of his jeans with a gasp. Richie kicked the door shut before molding their bodies against the back, a deep hum of contentment issuing from his solid chest as he recaptured Dorian’s lips and his fingers flowed once more below his navel. “Mmm...fuck yeah…”

Dorian tried to lose himself in the moment. Richie’s broad body grinding, massive erection poking his hip repeatedly.  _ Fuck...I knew he had a big dick, but damn… _ Richie’s sizable hands, ravenous in their consumption of his decorated flesh.  _ God, I love the way he touches me… _ Richie’s tongue, slippery and sloppy, but not overwhelming and undeniably enticing.  _ Fuck, he’s such a good kisser...But the bourbon… _

“Richie, wait…” With a hand to his firm pec, Dorian broke away, teeth gritted as he gently led Richie’s wrist from between his legs. “I...I don’t think we should do this…”

Nostrils flaring, Richie looked at Dorian’s downcast face, who refused to meet his eyes, and touched a quiet fist to the door. “Okay, um…” Cords of his neck highlighted, Richie's Adam’s apple bobbed as he scrubbed fingers through his brown tendrils and sighed. “Dor, I...I would never ask you to do anything you don’t wanna do, of course, but…” Rocking back on his heels, Richie glanced to the ceiling, arms falling in dismay. “We’re gonna stop here? Now? I mean...Dor…” Inhaling sharply, Richie’s eyelids fell shut and the muscle in his crisp jaw jumped. “After over twenty damn years? I’m sorry, just…” Richie shook his head, smoothing a palm over his rough cheek and moving further away. “You seemed pretty into it until five seconds ago, is all I’m saying. I don’t know what I did to fuck it up, but…”

“You didn’t do anything.” Wringing his hands and voice small, Dorian wanted to evaporate. “I just...I mean, Rich...you’ve been drinking, so…”

“So?” Richie tilted his head and shrugged.

“So I don’t…” Tossing up his fingers in exasperation, Dorian sighed before zipping up his jeans. “So how am I supposed to know you really want this?”

Richie stared back at Dorian for what felt like a long time, and Dorian opened his mouth, prepared to leave, to call a car and go home before Richie ticked his head toward the bedroom and waved for Dorian to follow. “Come on.”

“Oh, Richie, I…”

Seeing Dorian’s uplifted hands and nervous expression, Richie rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to try and fuck you, Dor. Just come on. I wanna show you something.” Dorian looked at him suspiciously and Richie stuck out his tongue, bopping his head from side to side in annoyance. “No, it’s not my dick. Just come on.” 

Curious as he stepped into Richie’s room and watched him kick aside a crumpled pair of jeans before reaching into the closet, Dorian waited while Richie lifted down a shoebox. “Alright, um…” Richie gripped the edges, shifting his weight to the other foot. “So...so there’s, there’s pictures of you in here from...from before, too…” Biting his lip, Richie’s long fingers tapped the side apprehensively. “I don’t...if it’ll bother you to see that…”

“It won’t.” Dorian replied softly, accepting the box. Upon opening the lid, at first Dorian couldn’t make out the shrunken, half brown lump resting on top. Until he noticed the ruffled pink elastic attached. 

Richie’s prom corsage, dried and brittle. The band barely fit around his thick wrist and cut off his circulation, Richie pumping his fingers all night to keep them from turning blue. But he wouldn’t remove the flowers for a second.

Pressure building behind his eyes, Dorian discovered a baggie of dozens, maybe hundreds of ticket stubs. When Richie first cut back on the alcohol, Dorian suggested movies as a fun, sober way to kill time. So they went to the theater together. A lot. But Dorian never would’ve imagined Richie saved every little scrap of paper memory. 

Dorian uncovered a card made for Richie a decade or so ago, colored in crayon, which likely took Dorian less than five minutes to create. One of Richie’s first joke journals, complete with Dorian’s tidy, kind notes in the margins. A long expired plane ticket to Maine, unused, for a date Dorian would never forget, permanent reminder scarred on his chest and on Richie’s heart. But mostly, the interior brimmed with photos. Prom. Graduation. Dorian’s first night on stage. Candids and closeups. Smiles and laughs.

“Richie, um…” Voice trembling through his tight throat, Dorian’s fingers graced the ancient petals before a tear breached. “Why...why do you have all this stuff?”

Firm arms crossed and looking to the floor, Richie’s words came out waterlogged. “Because I’m fucking in love with you, dumbass.” 

Richie took the box back, avoiding Dorian’s gaze as he tucked it on his top shelf once more. “Richie…” Dorian touched his carved forearm, but Richie continued to face his collection of loud Hawaiian shirts, sniffing. “You know I’m in love with you, too.”

Turning, the sky of Richie’s blue eyes clouded with adoration, but also something resembling anger, grief, as he interlaced their fingers and stared Dorian down. “So are we gonna do this then? Because Dor…” Sniffing, Richie looked to the ceiling. “I want you so damn bad, but I can’t keep…” With a deep inhale, Richie squeezed Dorian’s hand almost too tight. “Let’s just stop fucking around, okay?”

“No.” The air vanished from Richie’s lungs as he looked hopelessly at Dorian, pink lips quivering.

Then, looping a hand around the back of Richie’s neck with an impish smile, Dorian brought his face close. “Let’s start.”

“Oh fuck you, Dor…” Richie giggled with relief, mashing their mouths together as he walked them backward to the bed and they flopped.

“Yes, please.” Freeing the peaks of Richie’s shoulders from the yellow fabric with an eager nod, Dorian kicked his shoes into the mess of his room and Richie chuckled.

“You are so fucking cheesy, dude.” Richie peeled Dorian’s shirt overhead, big hands cascading over his tattooed flesh before Dorian plucked in frustration at his own hemline and Richie disrobed.

“You love it.” Dorian lifted his hips to assist Richie in removing his jeans, but Richie’s expressive eyebrows danced and he brought Dorian’s underwear along, smirking wickedly once he lay nude beneath his grasp. Richie stood, quickly shucking off his pants and boxers, and Dorian gawked openly at the heavy curve of his erection before he rejoined him on the mattress.

Weighing Dorian down with his long body, Richie threaded his fingers into his fair tresses and discarded his glasses to the bedside stand. Richie’s cobalt eyes came close, so close, nothing between their naked, aching bodies. “I do…” Richie uttered, hand trickling down Dorian’s abdomen to pet over the lips of his dewy pussy. “I love you so much, Dor.”

“I love you, too, Richie.” Dorian laced through Richie’s silky tresses, eyes falling closed once he began tracing his clit with entrancing patience. “Fuck...Richie, I’ve thought about this so many times…”

Giggling, Richie shook his head and touched a kiss to the hollow of Dorian’s throat. “Don’t tell me that, Dor. You know I have performance anxiety.”

“Aw, come on…” Dorian wedged an arm between them to claim Richie’s massive cock, relishing the noise of delight rumbling from the cavern of Richie’s chest when he tugged. “You’ve impressed tougher crowds than me. You got this, Trashmouth.”

“Mmm…” Richie rolled his hips into the tight circle of Dorian’s fist, sweeping in and chafing his neck as his lips slathered over Dorian’s skin. “Fuck...maybe you’re right. So...Dor…” Fingers fiddling faster, Richie worried Dorian’s earlobe between his rounded teeth, tips of black hair shaking in Dorian’s face until he laughed. “Tell me...what did you think about? About me doing to you?”

“This.” Dorian responded and Richie scoffed loudly, hand slowing.

“Ah, c’mon.” Looking down at Dorian reproachfully, Richie kissed his cheek. “I know you don’t ‘work blue’ all that often, but meet me halfway here. You can do better than that, Dor.”

Rolling his eyes, Dorian adjusted beneath Richie and nodded. “Alright, alright, I, um…” 

Lower lip protruding and eyes narrowed, Richie laughed at Dorian’s concentrated face. “Okay, started to think you never fantasized about boning me, man, if it’s taking you this long…”

“Being filthy doesn’t come as easily to some of us, you big goob.” Dorian playfully smacked Richie’s arm and he chuckled. “Okay, well, to be honest...my favorite thing to think about is…” Cheeks pinking and gaze averted, Dorian shrugged sheepishly. “Sucking your dick.”

“Mmm...oh yeah?” Richie positioned a finger along either side of Dorian’s swelling clit, smoothing up and down, up and down, but not touching the begging bead directly as he burrowed into the crook of Dorian’s neck. “I like the sound of that. You wanna use your mouth on me, Dor? Mmm...fuck. I bet you give great head…”

“Yes…” Dorian gasped, rocking into Richie’s big hand as he jerked faster. “Oh fuck...Richie, yes...I want your big cock in my mouth so damn badly. Want you to fuck my face. Cum in my throat. Fuck…”

“Uh huh…” Exuberance getting the better of him, Richie frantically humped for a moment, tearing at Dorian’s hair and fusing to his mouth. “Uh huh...yeah. Fuck...I want that...Fuck…” Hand leaving Dorian’s scalp, Richie grabbed the mattress and took a steadying breath. “But Dor...first, I need to hear you cum.” Taking Dorian away from his cock, Richie pinned his wrist overhead and began spinning over his clit in earnest. “Fuck...I’ve dreamt about how you sound when you cum so many fucking times, Dor. I don’t even know…”

Rutting into Richie’s touch, Dorian’s face scrunched and his nails scraped over his broad back. “ _ Oh Richie! Yes! Fuck! Keep going! Fuck! Yes!” _

“You want my fingers inside you, Dor, huh?” Richie breathed against his ear, warm and hasty as Dorian started to shake. “You want me to fuck your pussy with my hand? Would you like that? Huh?”

“ _ Oh fuck! Yes! Please! Now! Now!”  _ Plunging two thick digits into the pulsating depths, Richie located the patch of nerve endings without issue and grinned at the surprising high note he elicited from Dorian’s flailing form. “ _ Richie, fuck! Fuck! I’m cumming! Yes! Yes! Yes!” _

Fluttering around Richie’s tamping fingers addictive, he hurriedly scooted down the mattress, sloppy kisses dotting Dorian’s sweaty flesh along the way. “I gotta eat your pussy, Dor.” A huge hand cracked Dorian’s thighs open before Richie anchored his hip to the bed. “Fuck, I...I gotta know how you taste. Right now.”

A single shameless swath of Richie’s long tongue painted over him and Dorian flinched before shaking his head and tapping Richie’s shoulder. “No…”

“No?” Richie popped up and eyed him quizzically. “Oh shit, I…” Licking his lips, Richie started to rise. “I’m sorry, Dor. I should’ve asked first. Do you not like it when people do that?”

“No, no, I do.” Dorian responded quickly, offering Richie’s curls a reassuring pat. “Just...bring that big dick up here. Let me do you at the same time. Come on.”

With a giggle, Richie swung his muscular legs up toward the headboard. “Alright, I won’t say no to that.” Burying his sturdy jaw between Dorian’s thighs, Richie rapaciously lapped at his engorged clit, groaning into his tender flesh when a moist, tight heat encapsulated his beseeching cock. 

Unable to resist a peek, Richie twirled his fingers over Dorian for a moment to watch inch after inch of his cock disappearing down his throat. “Oh fuck yeah…” Spare hand reaching down to pet over Dorian’s sandy locks, Richie nodded encouragingly. “Suck me.  _ Fuck! _ ” 

Within seconds both Richie and Dorian devoured one another like two men starved for decades. Which, in reality, they were as Dorian gobbled Richie’s huge cock to the root, bobbing and unafraid to let the drool fly while Richie secured his pink lips around Dorian’s clit like a leech, mercilessly sucking until he sensed screams buzzing into his balls.

“ _ Oh fuck! Richie! I...what...fuck!”  _ Dropping Richie from his mouth, Dorian yanked him wildly as he thrashed under his talented tongue, thighs chafed raw by his sandpaper cheeks as he frenetically humped his chiseled visage. “ _ Fuck! I’m cumming! Fuck! Yes! Richie! Yes! Yes!” _

Eyes nothing but white in his convulsing skull, unholy shrieks ripped from Dorian as he dripped over Richie’s handsome face. “Oh Richie...oh fuck…” 

Gathering himself, Dorian took the wide head of Richie’s cock into his mouth once more, but Richie emerged, cheeks shining and head shaking. “No.” Richie licked his fuschia lips, hair a disastrous nest as he tilted his pelvis away. “You’ll make me cum. And I wanna fuck you still.”

“Well, come on then.” Dorian pulled on Richie’s vast shoulder. “Get up here.”

Contemplating the glistening pink flesh before him, Richie blinked. “But I’m not done…”

“I’m good.” Chuckling, Dorian motioned for Richie to rise. “Really. Come on. Just fuck me.”

“Okay...okay.” Richie got up and rummaged in the bedside drawer, retrieving a condom.

Dorian touched his wrist. “Hey, um...your last test was negative, too, right?” As two sexually active queers, they went to the clinic every six months to get tested, their most recent results coming through three days earlier.

“Yeah.” Pausing, Richie nodded.

“Have you been with anyone since then?” Biting his lip, Dorian raised a timid shoulder. “Because if not...you know...I don’t have any plumbing anymore, Richie, so…”

Corners of his lips downturned in appraisal, Richie blinked. “Oh. Right. Sweet.” Richie tossed the condom back. “No, I haven’t. You?”

“Nope.” 

A slow smirk blossomed over Richie’s wide mouth and he arched a dark brow. “Prince Harry didn’t exactly give you the royal treatment, then, eh?”

“Let’s just say I wish Paul Revere had been there to warn me that the British cum a little too quickly.” 

Richie laughed, scrubbing his fingers through Dorian’s blond strands as he positioned himself above. “You’re so funny. I fucking love you, Dor.”

Dorian wondered if he would ever tire of hearing Richie say the words, laced with expletives or otherwise. He thought not. “I fucking love you, too, Rich.”

Swiping the tip of his cock through the sopping folds of Dorian’s pussy, the night sky of his eyes twinkled down, voice tender. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” Dorian caressed his stubbled cheek, finger tracing the light scar above Richie’s right eye. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Sharing a smile, their lips met and Richie surged forward into the warm clutch of Dorian’s body with a stammered groan. “Holy fucking shit, Dor, you feel so fucking good…” Gasping, the words poured out of him as Richie’s spine arched and he sheathed himself to the hilt, Dorian shivering when Richie’s cock hit deep and true.

“Fuck...Richie, yesss…” Dorian hissed, squeezing his love handles and closing his eyes. “So damn good.  _ Fuck!”  _

Jamming an arm between them, Richie’s large hand thrummed Dorian’s clit as he swerved his hips and their mouths wove together. Dorian drew up his knees, syncing to the cadence of Richie’s gyrations, a soft moan escaping every time Richie tapped his g-spot. “Mmm...fuck. I knew you were gonna be so damn good, Richie.” Dorian bit his joined earlobe, fingers kneading over the plain of his pale back as he undulated above. “Even better than I imagined.  _ Fuck! Richie...yes! _ You fuck me so good…”

“Yeah?” Barreling forward with renewed vigor, Richie raced over Dorian’s clit, rejoicing in the fact that his drenched pussy already began to cinch. “Does that feel good? Huh, Dor? You like the way I fuck your pussy? Huh?”

“ _ Oh fuck! Yes! Richie! I love it!”  _ Dorian slammed his hips skyward, knocking Richie off his rhythm. _ “I love your big cock! Fuck me! Harder! Yes! Don’t stop!” _

“ _Oh hell yeah, Dor! Fuck! I wanna make you cum on my cock so fucking hard!”_ Pounding into him with reckless fervor, the headboard cracked into the wall and the mattress squealed dangerously beneath them as Dorian’s screams rose. “ _Cum for me, Dor! Cum on my cock! Cum for me! Cum! Cum! CUM!”_  
“ _RICHIE!”_ Dorian screeched, clawing red troughs into his wide back while waves of heat radiated over his quaking body. As Richie’s cock continued to hammer into the spongey patch within, Dorian’s limbs struck out at odd angles and he seized. “ _Oh fuck! Richie! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”_

Richie scooped Dorian into his powerful arms, crossing behind his back and hooking over his shoulders. Foreheads smushed together and sharing breath, Richie propelled himself into the constricting heat with incredible velocity, whimpers trapped within him for decades breaching his gaped mouth. “ _ Oh Dor! Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum in your pussy! I love you so much! Fuck! Dor! Fuck! Please! Yes! Fuck!” _

“ _ Richie! I love you! Don’t stop! Yes! Fuck! Fuck! _ ” Dorian squeezed around him again, fighting to watch Richie’s beautiful, contorting face as his focus fluttered.

“ _ Dorian! Yes! Dorian! Fuck! FUCK!” _ Body elongated and frozen, Richie’s left eye twitched and he forgot to breathe. With all of the silly sounds he summoned, none compared to the high, vulnerable whine which shot out of Richie in that second as his hips hopped, throbbing hot cum into Dorian’s depths as he held him impossibly closer. “ _ Fuck _ , Dor...fuck...fuck…”

Shuddering into a heaving puddle, Richie commanded air into his lungs while Dorian continued to flicker irregularly around his cock. Richie rolled, little noises of satisfaction jiggling out of him as he pulled the sheet over Dorian, who opened his legs further and used Richie’s firm chest as a pillow.

“Hey Richie?” Dorian spoke into the amiable silence, fingers prancing through the field of Richie’s dark chest hair. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” Somewhere between wakefulness and sleeping, Richie’s large hand skipped lazily down Dorian’s back and he nodded.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything? If…” Tucking his chin down into Richie’s warm, pale skin, Dorian breathed in his delectable scent. “If you wanted me, too. I mean, you had to know, right? About me...”

Richie remained quiet for so long that Dorian thought he drifted off, but lifting his head, he saw Richie studying the ceiling. “I…” Hand tightening around Dorian’s arm, Richie swallowed hard. “Dor...yeah, I...I kind of figured, you…” Richie hesitated, nostrils widening and blinking at the blurry tiles above. “But...Dor, I...I know…” Sharp jaw set, Richie gave a curt nod. “I know who I am. What I’m like, so...so I just...I wanted…” A breath stopped somewhere in the vicinity of Richie’s heart as he faced the opposite wall. “I think you deserve someone better.”

“Oh Richie…” Gently touching his rough cheek, Dorian urged Richie back to find his sapphire eyes glassy. “There’s no one better for me than you. You…” Dorian combed through Richie’s chestnut curls with a solemn smile. “You love me better than anyone. Even if you never said so before.”

Richie’s crooked, goofy grin appeared, then wavered as he held Dorian’s face. “Well, I...I did tell you. Once. You just...you don’t remember, Dor.” Dorian looked down at him in confusion and Richie let out a woeful sigh. “After your surgery.” Fingers lighting over the scar on Dorian’s chest, Richie blinked dewdrops onto his long lashes. “I said...I told you then. I loved you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there…”

Face screwing up and gathering Dorian close, Richie let out a wet sob. Dorian massaged his sides and placed a kiss to Richie’s gritty cheek. “Oh Richie, don’t...don’t beat yourself up about that, alright? I was okay. I’m okay. Everything went fine. You...there’s nothing you could’ve done.” Dorian embraced Richie, imparting his arms with years worth of gratitude. “You helped me so many times in so many ways, Rich. I...I wouldn’t be here without you. I hope you know that. I owe you everything. I love you so much. Thank you.”

“Thanks, Dor.” Wetting his shoulder with tears, Richie rocked them back and forth, mouth smothered and voice a wreck. “I love you, too.”

Crying and holding one another until they felt cold and tired and peaceful, Richie silently reached over to flip off the light. Curled beneath the blanket, lulled by the rise and fall of Richie’s breathing, Dorian fell asleep on top of him, secure in Richie’s arms. 

And when they woke the next morning, both sporting headaches, Richie made the same old joke when Dorian’s joints crackled on the way to the bathroom. “Someone must’ve burnt Mr. Gray’s picture.”

“Pretty sure you shouldn’t be calling anyone else ‘gray’.” Dorian smirked as he returned to bed, scratching under Richie’s chin before he folded himself into the warmth of his long body, the two snuggling in for a day, a lifetime, of roasting with love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment or come say hi on tumblr at fandomtransmandom. I also accept requests!


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